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Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Okayyyy, I still owe some replies from the other thread. DAMN THE PROTOCOLS!

@ProspitDreamer (Dave's Admission)

whatever he doesnt know anything terezis awesome

awesome like near-approaching dave awesome

like she’d set the bar on awesome if i hadnt already set it so awesomly high

That's so Dave. Damn, I'll probably start using this in daily speech, if you don't mind.

its inevitable like gravity, im an unstoppable force of attraction and she obviously just cant help herself

Ok, this too.

Damn, there were like so many good one liners in this. Dave getting flustered is a pretty rare sight.

Thanks, fluffy! Using my stuff in your daily speech is like the best compliment ever!

Originally Posted by FieryBlacksmith

Because doomed timelines are pretty fun to write in.

Swipes of red and teal, part 1

Three knocks. Karkat looked around as the door to his room opened. "H3Y K4RKL3S."

He got up. "TEREZI? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"OH, YOU KNOW, JUST DROPP1ING BY." She slipped into his room, a cane swung on one shoulder. "WH4CH4 DO1NG, 4NYW4Y?"

"I WAS JUST GOING TO WATCH A MOVIE, NOTHING SPECIAL."

A silence fell.

"W3LL?"

"WHAT WELL?"

"4R3N'T YOU GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO JO1N YOU?"

Karkat looked away uncomfortably. "WELL, I WOULD, BUT, YOU KNOW..." he waved a hand in front of her face.

Terezi grabbed him by the wrist. "1 C4N S33 MOR3 TH4N YOU TH1NK, 4ND SM3LL 3V3N MOR3." she sniffed. "SP34K1NG OF..." pushing him aside, she jumped onto the couch and grabbed the bowl of Troll M&M's Karkat always snacked on during movies.

"YOU KNOW 1 L1K3 TH3S3, 4S 1F YOU WOULD 1NV1T3 M3 OVER 4NYW4Y." she grinned at him while he sat down next to her.

"YEAH? WELL I LIKE THEM TOO. DON'T THINK THEY MEAN ANYTHING."

"WH4T3V3R GROUCHK4T, JUST ST4RT TH3 MOV13 ALR34DY."

--

The movie ended about two hours later. During that time, the two trolls had emptied the bowl of chocolates, during which their hands grabbed each other about a dozen times. Karkat always glanced at Terezi when they did, but she didn't seem to notice, care or mind. During the obligatory they-break-up-because-s(he)-did-something-wrong part of the movie, Terezi had crept closer to Karkat, wrapping her arms around one of his. During the part where the wronged party is asked for forgiveness (or to not murder the party that wronged it, Troll movies are a bit more complicated on this matter), she had laid her head in his lap. Karkat stared at the screen as hard as he could, not wanting Terezi to see his head turn red from a blush.

"I... AH, YOU MEAN..." Karkat began to form a pretty good idea what she was talking about.

"H3 DO3SN'T 1MM3D14T3LY R3J3CT H3R, SO SH3 TH1NKS SH3 H4S 4 PR3TTY GOOD SHOT 4T H1M." she began to run a finger over the back of his hand that was resting on the back of the couch. He stopped her by grabbing her hand and holding it gently.

With his free hand, Karkat carefully removed Terezi's glasses and put them in the now-empty bowl behind him. "HER SOFT VOICE, HER SENSE OF HUMOR, HER INTELLIGENCE..." he ran a hand over her cheek, and got closer in a way that put her knees in between his. "HER SOFT SKIN, CUTE SHARP HORNS, GREAT FIGURE, BEAUTIFUL EYES..."

"BUT I AM." before she could respond, Karkat put a hand behind her head and kissed her. Terezi tried to struggle with a muffled "413", until she realised something.

Karkat Vantas tastes DELICIOUS.

She wasn't sure what the finishing ingredient was; the raw emotion, the chocolate still on his lips, or the decadent red strawberry-cherry fruit blast that was his blood running just below his lips. Whatever it was, she loved it. Wrapping her hands around his neck and pushing him onto his back, Karkat had his arms free to hug Terezi as tightly as he could. They laid there together for a length time that they would only be able to describe with three words:

Way too short.

Atuhor's Nose:

Part 2 wil describe the doomed timeline part. Originally intended as one big story, it grew out of hand during the writing process. Oh well.

Troll M&M's are painted with food dye made from dead grubs. Kinda gross when you think about it.

Swipes of Red and Teal, part 2

They just laid on the couch. Terezi had her arms around Karkat's waist, her head carefully against his chest not to hurt him with her horns. He had an arm around her head, and ran his free hand through her hair.

"MMM... W3 SHOULD H4V3 DON3 TH1S W4Y 34RL13R." Terezi sighed. She pushed her head out of Karkat's hold, so that it was on the same height as his.

"YEAH." he gave her a soft kiss. "WE SHOULD DO THIS AGAIN REAL SOON."

"1 GOT 4 B3TT3R 1D34..." she rolled him on his side, crawled on top of him, and playfully grabbed his nubby horns. "WHY NOT 4 ROUND 2?"

He put his arms around her waist. "SOUNDS GOOD, BUT, EH... DO YOU THINK WE HAVE TIME FOR THAT BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP?"

"AW SHIT. WHAT NOW?" she smiled a big smile at Karkat as she climbed off him.

"S1MPL3, K4RCUT13. YOU'R3 GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO ST4Y 4T YOUR PL4C3 FOR TH3 D4Y." she walked up to the window and blinded it. "W3LL?"

"TEREZI, IT'S FAR TOO DANGEROUS TO LET YOU GO HOME RIGHT NOW. I WANT YOU TO STAY WITH ME FOR THE DAY."

"4W K4RKL3S, 1 THOUGHT YOU'D N3V3R 4SK." she walked back, and sat down on top of him. Their hands found each other, and their fingers entwined. Karkat said nothing as he just looked at Terezi.

"YOU L1K3 WH4T YOU S33?" she asked with a grin.

"I SEE MY BEAUTIFUL MATESPIRIT SITTING ON TOP OF ME, SO YES, I LIKE WHAT I SEE." he sat up and kissed her, letting go of her hands to grab her tightly.

"4W, W4Y TO M4K3 1T SOUND OFF1C14L, CUT3K4T." she used her freed hands to grab onto him and hug him as well. What seemed to be going on forever was interrupted by a loud crash downstairs. Both trolls broke their kiss when they heard it.

"AW CRAP, CRABDAD IS ACTING UP AGAIN." wrestling himself free from Terezi's grip, Karkat got up and grabbed a sickle from his desk.

"DON'T ST4Y 4W4Y TOO LONG, W3 ST1LL H4V3 SOM3TH1NG TO F1N1SH." she told him, as she looked over the edge of the couch.

"FINISH?" Karkat walked up to her, and gently took her chin in his hand. "THAT WAS JUST A TASTE OF ROUND TWO." he gave her a kiss, and winked at her as he turned around and left his room. "DON'T GO ANYWHYERE, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK."

Terezi swooned just loud enough for him to hear it. A few moments passed as everything was quiet, then sounds of fighting began to come from downstairs. Then, a horrible scream.

"TEREZI!"

Confused, she looked for her glasses and cane, as she walked to the door. "K4RK4T?"

"RUN!"

Leaving the room and looking down the stairway, she smelled a sharp cherry cloud coming from downstairs. An injured Karkat was at the bottom of the stairs.

"GAMZEE HAS SNAPPED! RUN!" he yelled at her, turning around just in time to parry a club swung at him.

Standing transfixed for a moment, Terezi turned around and started to look for stairs.

--

The hatch opened, and Terezi stumbled onto the roof. She looked around for a way down, but didn't find anything. The hatch was kicked open, and Gamzee stepped onto the roof.

"well well. WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE." he chuckled.

"G4MZ33? WH4T'S WRONG? WH3R3'S K4RK4T?" she asked.

"the angry motherfucker? HE'S A FINE ADDITION TO MY COLLECTION." he spinned the club in his hand. It smelled like it had been completely submerged in cherry jam.

"and so will you. NOW START BLEEDING." he ran up to her. A terrified Terezi swung her cane at him, which he caught with one hand. Holding onto it, he hit her in the chest with his club. She screamed in pain as she felt her torso strain under the blow, forcing her face-down a few feet away from her attacker. Her cane was yanked from her hands, turning into its segmented form, held together by rope. Gamzee looked at it in facination, then grinned in a way only the insane can grin.

Kneeling at Terezi, he put the rope around her neck. "little legislacertor. YOU HAVE COMMITED AN UNFORGIVABLE CRIME. your blood is the most beautiful teal. FOR WHICH THERE IS BUT ONE PUNISHMENT. death by hanging." Dragging her to the edge of the roof, he pulled the ends of the cane as far away from the edge as he could, pulling Terezi off the roof, and causing her to fall.

Snap.

--

Terezi put her hand against her neck. It was sore, but unbroken. She had fallen onto one of the side segments of the house. The rope of her cane was sturdy, but not strong enough to hang someone with. Strangle, perhaps, but not enough to maintain a troll's weight.

Terezi got to her feet, and tried to find a way to escape. After a few steps she felt something under her shoes. Broken glass. Reaching out closely, she felt nothing in a place that should have either a wall or window. Even when she climbed through as careful as she could, she could not avoid a few cuts from broken glass.

The room she had entered took her breath away. It stank of fresh fruit, mainly red-colored ones. Shaking, she walked to the source of the smell. She kneeled down and laid her hands on it. One of its nubby protrudings poked into her leg. She didn't care. She began to cry. "K... K4RK4T... PL34S3..."

Something hit her from behind. She shouted in pain and landed on her back. "isn't it beautiful? ALL THAT FUCKING RED. just look at it all over the room. JUST MOTHERFUCKING LOOK AT IT." Gamzee yanked her glasses off and threw them aside. "oh wait, i forgot. YOU CAN'T FUCKING SEE."

Terezi tried to grab him, fight him, do something. Gamzee replied by bringing down his fist on her face. She screamed in pain and grabbed her nose. He looked at the blood on his hand. "beautiful. NOW LET'S SEE HOW MUCH OF IT YOU GOT." the Subjugglator pulled her hands away, and raised his club.

bonk
BONK
bonk
BONK
bonkBONK

--
"T... TEREZI?"

"K4RK4T?"

He didn't answer. He just hugged her as tightly as he could.
"I'M SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN HIM I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY-"

"K4RK4T."

"I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WAY EARLIER TO STOP THIS FROM HAPPENING I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WHILE HE WAS SOBER I'M SO SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY."

"K4RK4T!"

"I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AFTER YOUR ESCAPE FIRST I'M SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SORRY I'M SORRY."

"K4RK4T!" she slapped him across the face. "SHUT UP YOU BLUBB3R1NG P4NSY." she lowered her hand. "1'M NOT M4D 4T YOU. YOU D1D 4LL YOU COULD."

"BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH I'M SO SO-" he was slapped across the other side of the face.

Welp, there it ends. I might do more with these guys later, in a different work. Until then, see you next time!

I don't know if I'm happy or sad. I think I'm both. I feel conflicted- and I like this! I think in two pages you got me pretty very attached to those characters! Poor Karkat, the universe is against him no matter what timeline he's in.

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by wilySubversionist

Er, hi. I'm delurking to say how much I fucking love this thread and all the fic for this fandom. So much talent! So much, in fact, I feel the need to dilute it a little. This is the first fanfic I've written in a decade, so it's probably a little mostly shitty. But I hope y'all enjoy a little.

Walking Far From Home(xxiii)

It's all around you, streetlights and the haze of the city. The orange glow that replaces the sun every night pushes in past the thick dust layer on the windows. It makes the truck cab fill with warm color, deceptive, because it’s January and even in the South you can see your breath. Dave’s too cool for a coat, or too big for last year’s, maybe; his quaking body vibrates the canvas benchseat. Too little gas to turn the engine over, but you can flip the key towards you and power on the radio. Distraction.

You twist the knob slowly, one ear cocked towards the dash, pretending to know what you’re looking for. You settle on oldies, cough out a laugh at the chorus of “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl”. You must have sounded too please with yourself, too smug in your purposefully terrible taste, because Dave’s blond head snaps around to glare through pointed glasses.

“What the hell, man? Really?”

You bop your head slightly, side to side, won’t give him the satisfaction of actually looking down. “This is my jam, yo.”

He grunts softly, folds his arms and tucks them tightly against his chest. You want to chuckle, it’s a pretty adorable gesture of childish frustration even as he's trying to be adult about it, but it would send the wrong message. You can see the point of his shoulder, his elbow sharp and hard, and knowing he is too skinny by half socks the humor out of it anyhow.

Song ends and another kicks in, Rod Stewart trying to be sexy. He doesn’t get through the first verse before Dave groans loudly and uncrosses his arms,violent-quick. You glance down passed the edge of your shades. He’s got his hands crumpled into fists that smack the seat at the sides of his knees.

“What the hell are we doing here, Bro? We’ve been sitting freezing outside this shithole for so long I’m gonna need a herd of St. Bernards with high-pressure kegnecks if I want to thaw out before next week. Why’d we have to come all the way out to the Beltway, huh? Why we sitting in random-ass Joe Joe’s rustbucket with the gun rack and the goddamn Lone Star mudflaps?”

You’d known Joe Joe when you were kids, and you were with him on that field trip to the Alamo in 6th grade, but you hadn’t expected him to take such a hard turn for unironic Texas pride. No, not cool, but doesn’t matter. He asks few questions and does a lot of favors, a good friend. You hold yourself stiffly, even though your stomach is cramping like a bitch and your head is foggy. Soul-tired. You can’t let Dave know you’re feeling the pressure. Definitely can’t let him know his nagging’s actually getting to you. Instant game over.

“Am I even going to school tomorrow? Because at this rate, I’m going to get 2 minutes of sleep and look like I huffed glue with hobos under a bridge.” Kid just won’t stop running his mouth until you, both hands on the wheel, slowly rotate your upper body towards him. You tilt your chin up and raise your eyebrows by a hair; it’s a look he’s been getting since he first babbled in his highchair, shorthand for “You done, bro?” He is now, and his lips press into themselves and vanish.

“Listen, dude, I told you, best way to keep from losing your shit like that is to put a leash on it. Tug a little bit when it tries to leave the yard.” Dave’s left eyebrow hitches up; you can’t see them, but he’s rolling his eyes. Little bro is usually much cooler than this, going with the flow, but he’s cold and it’s the middle of the night and you can hear his stomach snarling from here. Fuck. He ain’t wrong about any of it. “Won’t be much longer.”

“Dude. Seriously, what the fuck is this? A stakeout? You pull some hugely weird shit sometimes, day to day conditions notwithstanding…”

“Damn, laying down some sick vocab!”

Dave’s fists tighten, cheeks getting redder. He’s Going There, no stopping him, and your own temper is rising. Everything fraying his composure presses down on you too, he just doesn’t know. And you are not in the fucking mood to be told.

“Never know when I’m gonna get my ass kicked or trip in a into a massive pile of pervy foam, but that’s just par for the 18 hole suckcourse we livin’ at. But sometimes you really step it up, max effort. Like not even coming home on my birthday? That was really special, man, real cool. But freezing in this fucking parking lot for an hour, no reason other than you just like fucking with me makes that look like a trip to Disney.”

You’re both just staring now, and you can feel his anger hotter than a radiator. Resentment wafts off his face, blurring the air like summer sun on asphalt. And open your mouth and spit right back, “Yeah, man, I know, huge asshole right here. But. You hungry, player?”

Like a slap, shouting the unspeakable. He recoils. You instantly regret it and feel lighter and fluid and now it just rolls out of you. A radioactive containment leak, no stopping it. You don’t even want to.

“So, check it. It’s the 12th and I don’t get a check ‘til the 15th. You ate the last of the Eggos for dinner yesterday, so you know there’s no food in the house. I had a hundred bucks left after the electric, but I still owed the doctor after your last cough, so then it's just twenty-five. Then your backpack ripped and fourteen blocks is too far with all those books, so there that goes. Three days, dog, until we’re flush again and nothing to fucking eat.

“But there’s this chick Shelley who comes to club when I spin and she’s a waitress here but only after 2 in mornin' and I called up Joe ‘cause we can’t walk here and I can't even find busfare in the couch. So now we’re here, in a random dude’s shitty truck in the middle of the night, waiting for some girl, who could lose her damn job but is gonna feed us for nothing anyhow. There’s your why. ‘Cause you’re hungry and it’s the best hustle I got.”

Damn. Shuts him right the fuck up, just locks him down as it shifts the weight off you and onto him too. It’s the best strategy you ever thought of, laying it all out for him. And it’s the worst fucking thing you’ve ever said. Your whole mouth feels sticky and sour. Basically full-on ripped the curtain down between regular kid stuff and the shit grown-ass men have to shoulder. He is ten years old. Barely.

And you can see it, all over his face; he still loses a lot at cards. It’s clear how his forehead creases in the middle and his mouth is slack, you just blew his lobe. Reality KO’s childhood in one round. You can’t fucking believe yourself.

But Dave’s a smart kid, a good one, he’ll handle it, you think— hope. Look at him, already working on patching up the shrapnel of your little truth bomb. Before he turns to focus on the brick wall through the windshield, you see him harden, not shivering now. You want to take it back, to apologize, but if you start now, you will never, ever stop.

“Oh. Cool,” he says, toneless.

Probably once a week you feel it, this guilty nausea. You know you’re fucking up, failing him all the time. Failing him and you don’t know how to do any better. Never this bad before, though, never seen his spine so stiff and his face made of plaster. You haven't eaten in two days yourself, but you've never had less appetite in your life. There’s such a gulf between what Dave needs and what you’re giving him. Just sick inside.

You picture the waitress, Joe Joe, remember Mrs. Cieslewski across the hall from your first place. She showed you how to heat a bottle right, jostled Baby Dave to sleep when you couldn’t get him to. That guy, too, who brought you buckets from his tap after the water got turned off in that first floor squat when Dave was a toddler. You’ve been lucky to find folk to lean on, to have threads to pull, favors to call in. It’s kept you from outright killing the boy through stupidity or want. They’re just kind people, mostly, a little sad for you, worrying about the kid. “Hey, it’s hard,” they say. But you’ve never met anybody that gets it. You don’t even. How do you be a— fuck, a parent? They’re your friends, neighbors, but just don’t live where you do, because you’re always so lost and roaming.

Sneak a glance to your right; Dave’s still arrow straight, eyes ahead. Perpetual fucking up aside, when you see him, you feel fierce and raw. Like ball lightning. Proud and so, so scared. Also, now, a sharp prick of loss. That ache’s new, a salty wound right in your chest. Maybe it’s the sting of failure deepening to honest-to-God terror. The plan, the way you decided to raise him, is to take him apart and let him put himself back together, stronger. So fucking stupid. Will he even survive all the ways your love is breaking him? Gotta chill, man. Eyes front. You’re both quiet, all uneven breathing and exposed nerves.

Now that you’ve stopped being bastards at each other at top volume, what’s left is the cheesy announcer doing the station ID and starting the next shitty 60’s song. “Hang on Sloopy.” Jesus fuck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dave nod, slide towards you a few inches; he reaches for the volume knob and twists. “This track’s pretty sweet, man. Phat beat.”

Biting your style, irony like a ladder out of a hole. You want to grin and scream at the same time, split the difference with a smirk. And wrap your arm around him lightly, rest your hand on a bony upper arm. You are starving for contact, but restrain yourself. Just a little squeeze, you pull Dave against your side. It doesn’t make up for much, no where near enough, but he smiles anyhow, doing a barely-moving cool kid shoulder rock to the music. Tenderness ain’t cool, though, so it’s only a moment before he sasses you up, bright, friendly mockery on his face.

“So, you really scam on chicks that do the overnight at the Waffle House? Standards, dog.” You gotta laugh. Who is this kid, even?

A beatup old sedan pulls up. While Shelley slams her door and starts walking over, you crank the window down halfway and reply, “Check her out, she ain’t too bad. And keep your mouth shut ‘til you get your hashbrowns, aight?”

She’s pretty, dark-haired and slim. Though she must have dyed her hair recently, could have sworn it was blonde before. Smiling, she looks in and greets you, a little shyly. “Hey Strider. Glad you called. That your brother?”

“Sup, Sheila. Yeah, that’s Dave, coolest little man of all time.”

Shit. You called her the wrong name, after all this bullshit you’re blowing it. She’ll get pissed…but she doesn’t, just a “hey” to Dave and invites you in. It’s a little weird. Weird like your arm around Dave’s shoulders.

The angle’s changed, like he’s taller, and as you turn to look at him everything brightens. The misty light pollution dials up a few notches, not blinding but still stinging your eyes. You’re confused, shades gone and now you feel a wet warmth radiating out against your shirt, spreading quickly. You glance down, a short detour before looking at Dave, still trying to suppress panic.

Your empty arms trigger the flood, your mind slammed hard against itself. As the stab wound rips and blooms over your sternum, pain bursting through you, you remember. This happened long ago, and he’s already been gone. Outside, everything twists and crumbles, the landscape is shifting and meteors stream down the sky, Jesus. All changing, and you’re completely alone.

You put your head down, touching the top of the steering wheel. Close your eyes, try to breathe, but gasp and sputter instead. Hunched, starting to sob, you think about how long you’ve got left to wait.

Author's notes:

So, yeah. Sorry about the long. This is part of a multi-part (perhaps too ambitious, but we'll see) megastory about the Dream Bubbles-as-afterlife. I started with the Striderfic because it's like my favorite thing and because if I know anything, it's how to be a piece of shit custodial sibling. I'm gonna go work on some others now.

I don't know if you considered this but now, technically, being the troll with the highest blood, Vriska is now the new troll empress.
Of course, Aradia is the only other troll and I doubt she would obey her even if Vriska wanted to give orders and Aradia could still beat the crap out of her if she does, but it is still a funny thought, I think.

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Three knocks. Karkat looked around as the door to his room opened. "H3Y K4RKL3S."

He got up. "TEREZI? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"OH, YOU KNOW, JUST DROPP1ING BY." She slipped into his room, a cane swung on one shoulder. "WH4CH4 DO1NG, 4NYW4Y?"

"I WAS JUST GOING TO WATCH A MOVIE, NOTHING SPECIAL."

A silence fell.

"W3LL?"

"WHAT WELL?"

"4R3N'T YOU GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO JO1N YOU?"

Karkat looked away uncomfortably. "WELL, I WOULD, BUT, YOU KNOW..." he waved a hand in front of her face.

Terezi grabbed him by the wrist. "1 C4N S33 MOR3 TH4N YOU TH1NK, 4ND SM3LL 3V3N MOR3." she sniffed. "SP34K1NG OF..." pushing him aside, she jumped onto the couch and grabbed the bowl of Troll M&M's Karkat always snacked on during movies.

"YOU KNOW 1 L1K3 TH3S3, 4S 1F YOU WOULD 1NV1T3 M3 OVER 4NYW4Y." she grinned at him while he sat down next to her.

"YEAH? WELL I LIKE THEM TOO. DON'T THINK THEY MEAN ANYTHING."

"WH4T3V3R GROUCHK4T, JUST ST4RT TH3 MOV13 ALR34DY."

--

The movie ended about two hours later. During that time, the two trolls had emptied the bowl of chocolates, during which their hands grabbed each other about a dozen times. Karkat always glanced at Terezi when they did, but she didn't seem to notice, care or mind. During the obligatory they-break-up-because-s(he)-did-something-wrong part of the movie, Terezi had crept closer to Karkat, wrapping her arms around one of his. During the part where the wronged party is asked for forgiveness (or to not murder the party that wronged it, Troll movies are a bit more complicated on this matter), she had laid her head in his lap. Karkat stared at the screen as hard as he could, not wanting Terezi to see his head turn red from a blush.

"I... AH, YOU MEAN..." Karkat began to form a pretty good idea what she was talking about.

"H3 DO3SN'T 1MM3D14T3LY R3J3CT H3R, SO SH3 TH1NKS SH3 H4S 4 PR3TTY GOOD SHOT 4T H1M." she began to run a finger over the back of his hand that was resting on the back of the couch. He stopped her by grabbing her hand and holding it gently.

With his free hand, Karkat carefully removed Terezi's glasses and put them in the now-empty bowl behind him. "HER SOFT VOICE, HER SENSE OF HUMOR, HER INTELLIGENCE..." he ran a hand over her cheek, and got closer in a way that put her knees in between his. "HER SOFT SKIN, CUTE SHARP HORNS, GREAT FIGURE, BEAUTIFUL EYES..."

"BUT I AM." before she could respond, Karkat put a hand behind her head and kissed her. Terezi tried to struggle with a muffled "413", until she realised something.

Karkat Vantas tastes DELICIOUS.

She wasn't sure what the finishing ingredient was; the raw emotion, the chocolate still on his lips, or the decadent red strawberry-cherry fruit blast that was his blood running just below his lips. Whatever it was, she loved it. Wrapping her hands around his neck and pushing him onto his back, Karkat had his arms free to hug Terezi as tightly as he could. They laid there together for a length time that they would only be able to describe with three words:

Way too short.

Atuhor's Nose:

Part 2 wil describe the doomed timeline part. Originally intended as one big story, it grew out of hand during the writing process. Oh well.

Troll M&M's are painted with food dye made from dead grubs. Kinda gross when you think about it.

Swipes of Red and Teal, part 2

They just laid on the couch. Terezi had her arms around Karkat's waist, her head carefully against his chest not to hurt him with her horns. He had an arm around her head, and ran his free hand through her hair.

"MMM... W3 SHOULD H4V3 DON3 TH1S W4Y 34RL13R." Terezi sighed. She pushed her head out of Karkat's hold, so that it was on the same height as his.

"YEAH." he gave her a soft kiss. "WE SHOULD DO THIS AGAIN REAL SOON."

"1 GOT 4 B3TT3R 1D34..." she rolled him on his side, crawled on top of him, and playfully grabbed his nubby horns. "WHY NOT 4 ROUND 2?"

He put his arms around her waist. "SOUNDS GOOD, BUT, EH... DO YOU THINK WE HAVE TIME FOR THAT BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP?"

"AW SHIT. WHAT NOW?" she smiled a big smile at Karkat as she climbed off him.

"S1MPL3, K4RCUT13. YOU'R3 GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO ST4Y 4T YOUR PL4C3 FOR TH3 D4Y." she walked up to the window and blinded it. "W3LL?"

"TEREZI, IT'S FAR TOO DANGEROUS TO LET YOU GO HOME RIGHT NOW. I WANT YOU TO STAY WITH ME FOR THE DAY."

"4W K4RKL3S, 1 THOUGHT YOU'D N3V3R 4SK." she walked back, and sat down on top of him. Their hands found each other, and their fingers entwined. Karkat said nothing as he just looked at Terezi.

"YOU L1K3 WH4T YOU S33?" she asked with a grin.

"I SEE MY BEAUTIFUL MATESPIRIT SITTING ON TOP OF ME, SO YES, I LIKE WHAT I SEE." he sat up and kissed her, letting go of her hands to grab her tightly.

"4W, W4Y TO M4K3 1T SOUND OFF1C14L, CUT3K4T." she used her freed hands to grab onto him and hug him as well. What seemed to be going on forever was interrupted by a loud crash downstairs. Both trolls broke their kiss when they heard it.

"AW CRAP, CRABDAD IS ACTING UP AGAIN." wrestling himself free from Terezi's grip, Karkat got up and grabbed a sickle from his desk.

"DON'T ST4Y 4W4Y TOO LONG, W3 ST1LL H4V3 SOM3TH1NG TO F1N1SH." she told him, as she looked over the edge of the couch.

"FINISH?" Karkat walked up to her, and gently took her chin in his hand. "THAT WAS JUST A TASTE OF ROUND TWO." he gave her a kiss, and winked at her as he turned around and left his room. "DON'T GO ANYWHYERE, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK."

Terezi swooned just loud enough for him to hear it. A few moments passed as everything was quiet, then sounds of fighting began to come from downstairs. Then, a horrible scream.

"TEREZI!"

Confused, she looked for her glasses and cane, as she walked to the door. "K4RK4T?"

"RUN!"

Leaving the room and looking down the stairway, she smelled a sharp cherry cloud coming from downstairs. An injured Karkat was at the bottom of the stairs.

"GAMZEE HAS SNAPPED! RUN!" he yelled at her, turning around just in time to parry a club swung at him.

Standing transfixed for a moment, Terezi turned around and started to look for stairs.

--

The hatch opened, and Terezi stumbled onto the roof. She looked around for a way down, but didn't find anything. The hatch was kicked open, and Gamzee stepped onto the roof.

"well well. WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE." he chuckled.

"G4MZ33? WH4T'S WRONG? WH3R3'S K4RK4T?" she asked.

"the angry motherfucker? HE'S A FINE ADDITION TO MY COLLECTION." he spinned the club in his hand. It smelled like it had been completely submerged in cherry jam.

"and so will you. NOW START BLEEDING." he ran up to her. A terrified Terezi swung her cane at him, which he caught with one hand. Holding onto it, he hit her in the chest with his club. She screamed in pain as she felt her torso strain under the blow, forcing her face-down a few feet away from her attacker. Her cane was yanked from her hands, turning into its segmented form, held together by rope. Gamzee looked at it in facination, then grinned in a way only the insane can grin.

Kneeling at Terezi, he put the rope around her neck. "little legislacertor. YOU HAVE COMMITED AN UNFORGIVABLE CRIME. your blood is the most beautiful teal. FOR WHICH THERE IS BUT ONE PUNISHMENT. death by hanging." Dragging her to the edge of the roof, he pulled the ends of the cane as far away from the edge as he could, pulling Terezi off the roof, and causing her to fall.

Snap.

--

Terezi put her hand against her neck. It was sore, but unbroken. She had fallen onto one of the side segments of the house. The rope of her cane was sturdy, but not strong enough to hang someone with. Strangle, perhaps, but not enough to maintain a troll's weight.

Terezi got to her feet, and tried to find a way to escape. After a few steps she felt something under her shoes. Broken glass. Reaching out closely, she felt nothing in a place that should have either a wall or window. Even when she climbed through as careful as she could, she could not avoid a few cuts from broken glass.

The room she had entered took her breath away. It stank of fresh fruit, mainly red-colored ones. Shaking, she walked to the source of the smell. She kneeled down and laid her hands on it. One of its nubby protrudings poked into her leg. She didn't care. She began to cry. "K... K4RK4T... PL34S3..."

Something hit her from behind. She shouted in pain and landed on her back. "isn't it beautiful? ALL THAT FUCKING RED. just look at it all over the room. JUST MOTHERFUCKING LOOK AT IT." Gamzee yanked her glasses off and threw them aside. "oh wait, i forgot. YOU CAN'T FUCKING SEE."

Terezi tried to grab him, fight him, do something. Gamzee replied by bringing down his fist on her face. She screamed in pain and grabbed her nose. He looked at the blood on his hand. "beautiful. NOW LET'S SEE HOW MUCH OF IT YOU GOT." the Subjugglator pulled her hands away, and raised his club.

bonk
BONK
bonk
BONK
bonkBONK

--
"T... TEREZI?"

"K4RK4T?"

He didn't answer. He just hugged her as tightly as he could.
"I'M SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN HIM I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY-"

"K4RK4T."

"I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WAY EARLIER TO STOP THIS FROM HAPPENING I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WHILE HE WAS SOBER I'M SO SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY."

"K4RK4T!"

"I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AFTER YOUR ESCAPE FIRST I'M SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SORRY I'M SORRY."

"K4RK4T!" she slapped him across the face. "SHUT UP YOU BLUBB3R1NG P4NSY." she lowered her hand. "1'M NOT M4D 4T YOU. YOU D1D 4LL YOU COULD."

"BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH I'M SO SO-" he was slapped across the other side of the face.

Welp, there it ends. I might do more with these guys later, in a different work. Until then, see you next time!

I don't know if I'm happy or sad. I think I'm both. I feel conflicted- and I like this! I think in two pages you got me pretty very attached to those characters! Poor Karkat, the universe is against him no matter what timeline he's in.[/QUOTE]

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by anonymousComrade

the battle with Jack Noir was almost lost until Jade, in a move that was nothing short of miraculous, ascended to the God Tiers, merged with Jadesprite, and gained the power of a First Guardian herself.

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by billybobfred

Originally Posted by anonymousComrade

the battle with Jack Noir was almost lost until Jade, in a move that was nothing short of miraculous, ascended to the God Tiers, merged with Jadesprite, and gained the power of a First Guardian herself.

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Comment Dunp:

Originally Posted by Mirdan

Originally Posted by Doodled

must... type... meta-fic...

*collapses*

Meta-sleep

Fanon was winding down for the night, and most everyone had left to discuss Canon matters over personal musings in some other Thread. Just as well for Doodled, who had collapsed from the pressure of attempting to carry on all of an Essay and Metafiction.

Recovered from his sweating (he found being a newcomer very frightening indeed!) and from the terrible Silliness that had been brought about by a little bit of gender confusion (and some further sweating), Mirdan noticed the collapsed writer. Such a thing, to wear yourself out without a care for wordly matters.

Bed: Materialize

One might have heard, if they were listening carefully -- "Sweet dreams, friend" as Mirdan tucked his tuckered-out companion in for the night.

e: good luck on your essay!

Thanks!

Originally Posted by FieryBlacksmith

Heeeeeeeere's Blacksmith! Part 1 quoted, part 2 below:

Originally Posted by FieryBlacksmith

Because doomed timelines are pretty fun to write in.

Swipes of red and teal, part 1

Three knocks. Karkat looked around as the door to his room opened. "H3Y K4RKL3S."

He got up. "TEREZI? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"OH, YOU KNOW, JUST DROPP1ING BY." She slipped into his room, a cane swung on one shoulder. "WH4CH4 DO1NG, 4NYW4Y?"

"I WAS JUST GOING TO WATCH A MOVIE, NOTHING SPECIAL."

A silence fell.

"W3LL?"

"WHAT WELL?"

"4R3N'T YOU GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO JO1N YOU?"

Karkat looked away uncomfortably. "WELL, I WOULD, BUT, YOU KNOW..." he waved a hand in front of her face.

Terezi grabbed him by the wrist. "1 C4N S33 MOR3 TH4N YOU TH1NK, 4ND SM3LL 3V3N MOR3." she sniffed. "SP34K1NG OF..." pushing him aside, she jumped onto the couch and grabbed the bowl of Troll M&M's Karkat always snacked on during movies.

"YOU KNOW 1 L1K3 TH3S3, 4S 1F YOU WOULD 1NV1T3 M3 OVER 4NYW4Y." she grinned at him while he sat down next to her.

"YEAH? WELL I LIKE THEM TOO. DON'T THINK THEY MEAN ANYTHING."

"WH4T3V3R GROUCHK4T, JUST ST4RT TH3 MOV13 ALR34DY."

--

The movie ended about two hours later. During that time, the two trolls had emptied the bowl of chocolates, during which their hands grabbed each other about a dozen times. Karkat always glanced at Terezi when they did, but she didn't seem to notice, care or mind. During the obligatory they-break-up-because-s(he)-did-something-wrong part of the movie, Terezi had crept closer to Karkat, wrapping her arms around one of his. During the part where the wronged party is asked for forgiveness (or to not murder the party that wronged it, Troll movies are a bit more complicated on this matter), she had laid her head in his lap. Karkat stared at the screen as hard as he could, not wanting Terezi to see his head turn red from a blush.

"I... AH, YOU MEAN..." Karkat began to form a pretty good idea what she was talking about.

"H3 DO3SN'T 1MM3D14T3LY R3J3CT H3R, SO SH3 TH1NKS SH3 H4S 4 PR3TTY GOOD SHOT 4T H1M." she began to run a finger over the back of his hand that was resting on the back of the couch. He stopped her by grabbing her hand and holding it gently.

With his free hand, Karkat carefully removed Terezi's glasses and put them in the now-empty bowl behind him. "HER SOFT VOICE, HER SENSE OF HUMOR, HER INTELLIGENCE..." he ran a hand over her cheek, and got closer in a way that put her knees in between his. "HER SOFT SKIN, CUTE SHARP HORNS, GREAT FIGURE, BEAUTIFUL EYES..."

"BUT I AM." before she could respond, Karkat put a hand behind her head and kissed her. Terezi tried to struggle with a muffled "413", until she realised something.

Karkat Vantas tastes DELICIOUS.

She wasn't sure what the finishing ingredient was; the raw emotion, the chocolate still on his lips, or the decadent red strawberry-cherry fruit blast that was his blood running just below his lips. Whatever it was, she loved it. Wrapping her hands around his neck and pushing him onto his back, Karkat had his arms free to hug Terezi as tightly as he could. They laid there together for a length time that they would only be able to describe with three words:

Way too short.

Atuhor's Nose:

Part 2 wil describe the doomed timeline part. Originally intended as one big story, it grew out of hand during the writing process. Oh well.

Troll M&M's are painted with food dye made from dead grubs. Kinda gross when you think about it.

Swipes of Red and Teal, part 2

They just laid on the couch. Terezi had her arms around Karkat's waist, her head carefully against his chest not to hurt him with her horns. He had an arm around her head, and ran his free hand through her hair.

"MMM... W3 SHOULD H4V3 DON3 TH1S W4Y 34RL13R." Terezi sighed. She pushed her head out of Karkat's hold, so that it was on the same height as his.

"YEAH." he gave her a soft kiss. "WE SHOULD DO THIS AGAIN REAL SOON."

"1 GOT 4 B3TT3R 1D34..." she rolled him on his side, crawled on top of him, and playfully grabbed his nubby horns. "WHY NOT 4 ROUND 2?"

He put his arms around her waist. "SOUNDS GOOD, BUT, EH... DO YOU THINK WE HAVE TIME FOR THAT BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP?"

"AW SHIT. WHAT NOW?" she smiled a big smile at Karkat as she climbed off him.

"S1MPL3, K4RCUT13. YOU'R3 GO1NG TO 1NV1T3 M3 TO ST4Y 4T YOUR PL4C3 FOR TH3 D4Y." she walked up to the window and blinded it. "W3LL?"

"TEREZI, IT'S FAR TOO DANGEROUS TO LET YOU GO HOME RIGHT NOW. I WANT YOU TO STAY WITH ME FOR THE DAY."

"4W K4RKL3S, 1 THOUGHT YOU'D N3V3R 4SK." she walked back, and sat down on top of him. Their hands found each other, and their fingers entwined. Karkat said nothing as he just looked at Terezi.

"YOU L1K3 WH4T YOU S33?" she asked with a grin.

"I SEE MY BEAUTIFUL MATESPIRIT SITTING ON TOP OF ME, SO YES, I LIKE WHAT I SEE." he sat up and kissed her, letting go of her hands to grab her tightly.

"4W, W4Y TO M4K3 1T SOUND OFF1C14L, CUT3K4T." she used her freed hands to grab onto him and hug him as well. What seemed to be going on forever was interrupted by a loud crash downstairs. Both trolls broke their kiss when they heard it.

"AW CRAP, CRABDAD IS ACTING UP AGAIN." wrestling himself free from Terezi's grip, Karkat got up and grabbed a sickle from his desk.

"DON'T ST4Y 4W4Y TOO LONG, W3 ST1LL H4V3 SOM3TH1NG TO F1N1SH." she told him, as she looked over the edge of the couch.

"FINISH?" Karkat walked up to her, and gently took her chin in his hand. "THAT WAS JUST A TASTE OF ROUND TWO." he gave her a kiss, and winked at her as he turned around and left his room. "DON'T GO ANYWHYERE, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK."

Terezi swooned just loud enough for him to hear it. A few moments passed as everything was quiet, then sounds of fighting began to come from downstairs. Then, a horrible scream.

"TEREZI!"

Confused, she looked for her glasses and cane, as she walked to the door. "K4RK4T?"

"RUN!"

Leaving the room and looking down the stairway, she smelled a sharp cherry cloud coming from downstairs. An injured Karkat was at the bottom of the stairs.

"GAMZEE HAS SNAPPED! RUN!" he yelled at her, turning around just in time to parry a club swung at him.

Standing transfixed for a moment, Terezi turned around and started to look for stairs.

--

The hatch opened, and Terezi stumbled onto the roof. She looked around for a way down, but didn't find anything. The hatch was kicked open, and Gamzee stepped onto the roof.

"well well. WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE." he chuckled.

"G4MZ33? WH4T'S WRONG? WH3R3'S K4RK4T?" she asked.

"the angry motherfucker? HE'S A FINE ADDITION TO MY COLLECTION." he spinned the club in his hand. It smelled like it had been completely submerged in cherry jam.

"and so will you. NOW START BLEEDING." he ran up to her. A terrified Terezi swung her cane at him, which he caught with one hand. Holding onto it, he hit her in the chest with his club. She screamed in pain as she felt her torso strain under the blow, forcing her face-down a few feet away from her attacker. Her cane was yanked from her hands, turning into its segmented form, held together by rope. Gamzee looked at it in facination, then grinned in a way only the insane can grin.

Kneeling at Terezi, he put the rope around her neck. "little legislacertor. YOU HAVE COMMITED AN UNFORGIVABLE CRIME. your blood is the most beautiful teal. FOR WHICH THERE IS BUT ONE PUNISHMENT. death by hanging." Dragging her to the edge of the roof, he pulled the ends of the cane as far away from the edge as he could, pulling Terezi off the roof, and causing her to fall.

Snap.

--

Terezi put her hand against her neck. It was sore, but unbroken. She had fallen onto one of the side segments of the house. The rope of her cane was sturdy, but not strong enough to hang someone with. Strangle, perhaps, but not enough to maintain a troll's weight.

Terezi got to her feet, and tried to find a way to escape. After a few steps she felt something under her shoes. Broken glass. Reaching out closely, she felt nothing in a place that should have either a wall or window. Even when she climbed through as careful as she could, she could not avoid a few cuts from broken glass.

The room she had entered took her breath away. It stank of fresh fruit, mainly red-colored ones. Shaking, she walked to the source of the smell. She kneeled down and laid her hands on it. One of its nubby protrudings poked into her leg. She didn't care. She began to cry. "K... K4RK4T... PL34S3..."

Something hit her from behind. She shouted in pain and landed on her back. "isn't it beautiful? ALL THAT FUCKING RED. just look at it all over the room. JUST MOTHERFUCKING LOOK AT IT." Gamzee yanked her glasses off and threw them aside. "oh wait, i forgot. YOU CAN'T FUCKING SEE."

Terezi tried to grab him, fight him, do something. Gamzee replied by bringing down his fist on her face. She screamed in pain and grabbed her nose. He looked at the blood on his hand. "beautiful. NOW LET'S SEE HOW MUCH OF IT YOU GOT." the Subjugglator pulled her hands away, and raised his club.

bonk
BONK
bonk
BONK
bonkBONK

--
"T... TEREZI?"

"K4RK4T?"

He didn't answer. He just hugged her as tightly as he could.
"I'M SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN HIM I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY-"

"K4RK4T."

"I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WAY EARLIER TO STOP THIS FROM HAPPENING I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM WHILE HE WAS SOBER I'M SO SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SO SORRY."

"K4RK4T!"

"I SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU BETTER I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AFTER YOUR ESCAPE FIRST I'M SO SORRY TEREZI I'M SORRY I'M SORRY."

"K4RK4T!" she slapped him across the face. "SHUT UP YOU BLUBB3R1NG P4NSY." she lowered her hand. "1'M NOT M4D 4T YOU. YOU D1D 4LL YOU COULD."

"BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH I'M SO SO-" he was slapped across the other side of the face.

They've always used each other for their own reasons. They both know it, too, even if the reasons aren't readily apparent. In Droog's case, some of those reasons aren't apparent for a very long time. Jack knows he's a cunning bastard, but he's unable to let him go. Boxcars and Deuce don't see the way they use each other, only the way they stick together. The idiots have mistaken it for some twisted sort of love.

Boxcars especially. God, Jack hates his insistence seeing the two of them kissing each other. Droog always responds by soundly beating Boxcars with his cuestick. Jack just yells at him to shut up.

What Jack doesn't want to admit is that maybe, for once, he'd like to use Droog in a completely different way. Drop all the pretense, all the planning bullshit. And maybe give in to Boxcar's suggestion. When the giant oaf is nowhere around to brag about it, of course.

If only that could happen. But it probably never will.

Oh gog, wait wat? O_O

Originally Posted by Path

Oh, Rimbaum, oh gog give me that
*grab grab grab*

In the meantime...

Deduction

Problem Sleuth wakes up with his face smushed against floorboards. Again, he thinks.

He tries to express this verbally. "Hrrrrrgggnnnnn," he says. And then, "vvnnmph". His mouth is full of cotton balls. No wait, it just feels like it's full of cotton balls. He blinks a few times, and can't quite clear all the fuzz from his mind. All the same, he attempts to take account of things.

First, he notes, he is on the floor. He is not sure where the floor is or whose floor it is, but he is certainly on it, and since he woke up there he can deduce that he either slept there or was thrown there. The latter is certainly more common, even for the top problem sleuth in the city.

Second, he feels like shit. His head is throbbing, his mouth disgusting, and his entire body aching. He's cold. He attempts to check his skull for goose eggs left by the butt of somebody's revolver or a bottle or something, the usual cause of his experience waking up on the floor. His attempt is an exceptional failure, from which he learns that thirdly, his hands are tied up somehow. He wriggles around a little, cursing under his breath the entire way. However, he has found his hands, which expands point three to include the fact that he is tied, specifically, to a wrought-iron grate framing a fireplace.

He considers for a moment, and adds on point four, which is that he cannot remember getting here; he mentally jots it down as amnesia. Too many blows to the head? Food or drink laced? He keeps them in mind.

He decides to investigate the room. He considers doing this from a standing position, but points two and three gang up and beat the suggestion down, and he takes this as a warning to stay on the floor for now. He does not often listen to warnings, but coming as it is from his own thoughts, he allows that perhaps he has a point.

Problem Sleuth looks around. The floor is hardwood, dark and polished and real swanky. Nearby is a large green bottle, and he files it under Possible Weapons in his Brainvestigation. Just because he can't feel a bump on his head doesn't mean he wasn't clocked by that bottle. He gives it an intense glare, but the bottle remains quiet. It'll take more than that to convince it to cough up its alibi.

Right beside the bottle is a rug, tossed in a heap. It looks like white tiger skin or something equally endangered and expensive. It looks surprisingly soft, and Sleuth wonders if somebody is raising white tigers and shampooing them every day. This pings at the back of his mind. He thinks he's heard something like that before.

He files that under Clues.

The wood below him is slightly darker than the rest of the floor. Sleuth suspects the rug was moved either before he was tossed there or after, pulled out from under him. Maybe he was bleeding, and they didn't want to have to skin another Pantene Tiger. He can't feel any of the sharp pulls to his movement that would register as a cut, or the red-hot-poker sensation of a bullet wound, though, so he discounts that for the moment. It is beginning to look, to his chagrin, like he went down without much of a fight.

Beside him is a bedframe. It's also dark wood, with a few bits of dark steel laced into the design. It's modern and weird-looking and seems really expensive. He's right at the foot, and can't see any more of it than the tall flat design at the end, so he's not really sure what the rest of the bed looks like.

Craning his head backwards and gritting his teeth through the twinge of neck muscles and the screaming of his aching head, he can see long curtains and the edge of a door. He files it under Escape Routes, and notes amusedly that he's already organized his thoughts more than he ever does his office.

He looks down and adds a second door to his new folder. He also adds another point (five) to his Brainvestigation- he is entirely naked. No pants, shirt, tie, watch, hat, nothing. He holds up his feet. Even his socks are gone. On the plus side, he mentally checks off the symptom "cold" from his earlier list, noting "naked" beside it.

So he's woken up somewhere unfamiliar, feeling like hell, tied to a grate, naked. And he doesn't know how he got here. Problem Sleuth begins to feel something like worry. It's not the first time any of these things have happened, but usually it's not all at once. Somebody really pulled the big guns out to make sure he wouldn't be going anywhere. Naturally, he reacts as he frequently does when confronted with dangerous and delicate situations and immediately begins yelling.

"HEY, WHOEVER, RISE AND SHINE," he bellows. Oh God, his brain. It threatens to jump ship along with anything he ate last night if he continues to make noises a billion decibels higher than anyone should ever have to listen to. There is a strangled sound nearby and somebody moving. Whoops, thinks Problem Sleuth. Turns out there was somebody else here all along. Well, maybe whoever it is has some more information.

To his surprise, a figure pokes its head over the foot of the bed. He'd figured anyone in here would have been tied-up or drugged too. The man does look incredibly groggy, which almost eclipses his gritted teeth, lips curled in a snarl. His shiny black hair is wild, and he sports a handful of really impressive bite-marks all along his shoulders.

"What," he says flatly, "the fuck," he adds, "do you want," he closes his single eye as if in pain, "you asshole?"

It's Spades Slick. In retrospect, this really does look like one of his places. Problem Sleuth shoves him bodily into his Suspects folder. "Slick, if you don't get me untied from here-" he begins, but Spades Slick cuts him off.

"It's nine o'clock," Spades Slick says, in the closest thing to patience he's ever displayed. Patience, for Spades Slick, involves him clenching his sharp teeth together with his eye closed.

"Is it?" Sleuth says with fake cheer. "Let me just check my watch." He makes a show of craning his head back to his hands. There's nothing around his wrist but rope. Spades Slick makes a gagging sound. "Nope, had no idea," Sleuth continues. "Look, Slick, I don't know what you want, but I know we can work something out. So just untie me, and we'll talk."

Sleuth smiles at him to hide how completely thrown off he is by all this.

"I want you to shut up and let me sleep, you complete fucking moron." Slick's hand goes to his forehead, which he holds, wincing, for a moment before running it through his wild hair. He makes a half-hearted impression of Sleuth's voice. "'Just leave me here, Slick,'" he mocks. "'Too tired to move.'" Slick snarls at him, "patience" shattering entirely. "If I'd known you'd wake up ungodly early and start howling at me through this fucking hangover to let you back out, I'd never have tied you up in the first place."

"You tied me-"

"YES, I FUCKING TIED YOU UP THERE. And if I recall correctly, you seemed to enjoy it for awhile. So fuck you, shut up, and next time you're drunk out of your skull I'm not going to listen to a fucking word you say." Spades Slick wraps himself in a blanket, grabs a pillow, and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hm.

Sleuth peers up at his hands.

Yes, he thinks through his hangover, he does vaguely remember going out on the town with Slick the night before. It's fuzzy. He squints his eyes closed and tries to think. Yes, they went out to somewhere Slick didn't own. Slick was feeling generous and was buying drinks right, left, and center, for anybody in the room who caught his interest, so he figures he must have drank about three times what he's usually used to on a real bender.

He is unsure if the club was still standing when they left.

Then the two of them, straggling through the streets to whatever apartment was closest, alternately supporting each other and degenerating into drunken off-balance beatings. Somehow Slick got his apartment unlocked (Sleuth remembers some kerfuffle over the keys), and then very fuzzy and separate memories of travelling through his hall, kitchen, and collapsing on the sofa, Slick pulling a bottle of something from... somewhere, Slick straddling his lap, and then... pretty much nothing.

He has no idea how Spades Slick does it. The guy is three-quarters his size and skinny, but he can hold his liquor like nobody's business. And he sure ties a good knot.

Problem Sleuth takes the bottle out of the Possible Weapons file and puts it in Suspects with Spades Slick, then mentally stamps "CASE CLOSED" on it. Just another job well-done for the town's best problem sleuth. No clue unfound, no situation too embarrassing.

A/N

I imagine that when Slick does come back (after throwing Sleuth's shirt off the couch and napping there until lunch), Problem Sleuth will have long since pulled the tiger skin over with his toes and fallen asleep in it. Slick'll grouchily cut him out before Sleuth wakes up to pester him, and Sleuth'll find him in the kitchen, growling about the fact that he only keeps alcohol in his pad and no food.

I lol'd so hard that I blol'd.

Originally Posted by Dermonster

Meta!Annoyance

Honestly, Dermonster (Known as Derm to his friends, the number of which could effectively be counted as about Zero point three) thought, People just started to ignore me by the second thread.

"Hi Seraph." He said, passing him down the hall.

Seraph paused, looked around, then continued walking, shaking his head.

Derm sighed. The Felt Fic had garnered the most attention he had ever recieved, but it still seemed kinda lackluster. He knew he couldn't really expect some sort of parade in his honor, but he was a bit beeved at the complete lockout of aknowledgement on starting the whole RVB/SBURB thing.

There were few things he could think of for new fic ideas. Most of the good crosovers were taken except for a select few. The prompts were nice, but dialogue just seemed to escape him.

Suddenly the fic portal flared up, as it does occasionally, and a new writer appeared out of it, dazed and confused.

Hey, Derm said to the new writer. Welcome to the club!

The newcomer, as if propelled by magnetic forces, slid out of the room.

Oh come on! He shouted. He probably hasn't even seen me before!

He looked down in despar and realized he had brought his fic-writer with him and had been unconciously typing.

He read what was written so far.

Oh what the hell! When did I start writing self-insert angst fic!? He shouted to the heavens.

Oh well, Time to get drunk as hell and hit on Kass again. Derm thought as he threw the typewr-

WRITING DEVICE DAMAGED. AUTO-POSTING.

Authors notes.

*As usual, is Increadibly nervous*

Just a parody of what I percieve to be my general status on this thread, which is that annoying guy who pesters everyone for attention with infrequent mediocre fic, with a few good pieces here and there.

I lol'd.

Originally Posted by JudgeDeadd

Meta!Lilac

Graven_Image trembled, and looked up from his computer. Something was wrong. The air in the luxury mansion, an abode fit for a writer of his calibre, was slowly yet mercilessly taking on a tinge of purple.

"Who is there?" he bellowed, standing up and mustering all the courage he could achieve by channeling the spirit of Saxton Hale.

The empurpler stepped out from the shade and violet mist. A silhouette of a man, in one hand a bucket full of semicolons, freshly pried from the centuries-old pages of Poe and Melville, ready for being peppered upon virgin pages; in second hand, a thick tome that seemed to rival libraries with its thickness. A thesaurus. From which to plunder words from the bottommost rungs of frequency lists, all the better to feed spectacular prolixity.

"Hi, Graven!" Judge_Deadd exclaimed, stepping out into visibility. He looked around, taking note of the lilac fog enveloping both of them. "Ugh, sorry. Asked a hundred doctors and I still have no idea why this keeps happening whenever I'm near."

Er, hi. I'm delurking to say how much I fucking love this thread and all the fic for this fandom. So much talent! So much, in fact, I feel the need to dilute it a little. This is the first fanfic I've written in a decade, so it's probably a little mostly shitty. But I hope y'all enjoy a little.

Walking Far From Home(xxiii)

It's all around you, streetlights and the haze of the city. The orange glow that replaces the sun every night pushes in past the thick dust layer on the windows. It makes the truck cab fill with warm color, deceptive, because it’s January and even in the South you can see your breath. Dave’s too cool for a coat, or too big for last year’s, maybe; his quaking body vibrates the canvas benchseat. Too little gas to turn the engine over, but you can flip the key towards you and power on the radio. Distraction.

You twist the knob slowly, one ear cocked towards the dash, pretending to know what you’re looking for. You settle on oldies, cough out a laugh at the chorus of “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl”. You must have sounded too please with yourself, too smug in your purposefully terrible taste, because Dave’s blond head snaps around to glare through pointed glasses.

“What the hell, man? Really?”

You bop your head slightly, side to side, won’t give him the satisfaction of actually looking down. “This is my jam, yo.”

He grunts softly, folds his arms and tucks them tightly against his chest. You want to chuckle, it’s a pretty adorable gesture of childish frustration even as he's trying to be adult about it, but it would send the wrong message. You can see the point of his shoulder, his elbow sharp and hard, and knowing he is too skinny by half socks the humor out of it anyhow.

Song ends and another kicks in, Rod Stewart trying to be sexy. He doesn’t get through the first verse before Dave groans loudly and uncrosses his arms,violent-quick. You glance down passed the edge of your shades. He’s got his hands crumpled into fists that smack the seat at the sides of his knees.

“What the hell are we doing here, Bro? We’ve been sitting freezing outside this shithole for so long I’m gonna need a herd of St. Bernards with high-pressure kegnecks if I want to thaw out before next week. Why’d we have to come all the way out to the Beltway, huh? Why we sitting in random-ass Joe Joe’s rustbucket with the gun rack and the goddamn Lone Star mudflaps?”

You’d known Joe Joe when you were kids, and you were with him on that field trip to the Alamo in 6th grade, but you hadn’t expected him to take such a hard turn for unironic Texas pride. No, not cool, but doesn’t matter. He asks few questions and does a lot of favors, a good friend. You hold yourself stiffly, even though your stomach is cramping like a bitch and your head is foggy. Soul-tired. You can’t let Dave know you’re feeling the pressure. Definitely can’t let him know his nagging’s actually getting to you. Instant game over.

“Am I even going to school tomorrow? Because at this rate, I’m going to get 2 minutes of sleep and look like I huffed glue with hobos under a bridge.” Kid just won’t stop running his mouth until you, both hands on the wheel, slowly rotate your upper body towards him. You tilt your chin up and raise your eyebrows by a hair; it’s a look he’s been getting since he first babbled in his highchair, shorthand for “You done, bro?” He is now, and his lips press into themselves and vanish.

“Listen, dude, I told you, best way to keep from losing your shit like that is to put a leash on it. Tug a little bit when it tries to leave the yard.” Dave’s left eyebrow hitches up; you can’t see them, but he’s rolling his eyes. Little bro is usually much cooler than this, going with the flow, but he’s cold and it’s the middle of the night and you can hear his stomach snarling from here. Fuck. He ain’t wrong about any of it. “Won’t be much longer.”

“Dude. Seriously, what the fuck is this? A stakeout? You pull some hugely weird shit sometimes, day to day conditions notwithstanding…”

“Damn, laying down some sick vocab!”

Dave’s fists tighten, cheeks getting redder. He’s Going There, no stopping him, and your own temper is rising. Everything fraying his composure presses down on you too, he just doesn’t know. And you are not in the fucking mood to be told.

“Never know when I’m gonna get my ass kicked or trip in a into a massive pile of pervy foam, but that’s just par for the 18 hole suckcourse we livin’ at. But sometimes you really step it up, max effort. Like not even coming home on my birthday? That was really special, man, real cool. But freezing in this fucking parking lot for an hour, no reason other than you just like fucking with me makes that look like a trip to Disney.”

You’re both just staring now, and you can feel his anger hotter than a radiator. Resentment wafts off his face, blurring the air like summer sun on asphalt. And open your mouth and spit right back, “Yeah, man, I know, huge asshole right here. But. You hungry, player?”

Like a slap, shouting the unspeakable. He recoils. You instantly regret it and feel lighter and fluid and now it just rolls out of you. A radioactive containment leak, no stopping it. You don’t even want to.

“So, check it. It’s the 12th and I don’t get a check ‘til the 15th. You ate the last of the Eggos for dinner yesterday, so you know there’s no food in the house. I had a hundred bucks left after the electric, but I still owed the doctor after your last cough, so then it's just twenty-five. Then your backpack ripped and fourteen blocks is too far with all those books, so there that goes. Three days, dog, until we’re flush again and nothing to fucking eat.

“But there’s this chick Shelley who comes to club when I spin and she’s a waitress here but only after 2 in mornin' and I called up Joe ‘cause we can’t walk here and I can't even find busfare in the couch. So now we’re here, in a random dude’s shitty truck in the middle of the night, waiting for some girl, who could lose her damn job but is gonna feed us for nothing anyhow. There’s your why. ‘Cause you’re hungry and it’s the best hustle I got.”

Damn. Shuts him right the fuck up, just locks him down as it shifts the weight off you and onto him too. It’s the best strategy you ever thought of, laying it all out for him. And it’s the worst fucking thing you’ve ever said. Your whole mouth feels sticky and sour. Basically full-on ripped the curtain down between regular kid stuff and the shit grown-ass men have to shoulder. He is ten years old. Barely.

And you can see it, all over his face; he still loses a lot at cards. It’s clear how his forehead creases in the middle and his mouth is slack, you just blew his lobe. Reality KO’s childhood in one round. You can’t fucking believe yourself.

But Dave’s a smart kid, a good one, he’ll handle it, you think— hope. Look at him, already working on patching up the shrapnel of your little truth bomb. Before he turns to focus on the brick wall through the windshield, you see him harden, not shivering now. You want to take it back, to apologize, but if you start now, you will never, ever stop.

“Oh. Cool,” he says, toneless.

Probably once a week you feel it, this guilty nausea. You know you’re fucking up, failing him all the time. Failing him and you don’t know how to do any better. Never this bad before, though, never seen his spine so stiff and his face made of plaster. You haven't eaten in two days yourself, but you've never had less appetite in your life. There’s such a gulf between what Dave needs and what you’re giving him. Just sick inside.

You picture the waitress, Joe Joe, remember Mrs. Cieslewski across the hall from your first place. She showed you how to heat a bottle right, jostled Baby Dave to sleep when you couldn’t get him to. That guy, too, who brought you buckets from his tap after the water got turned off in that first floor squat when Dave was a toddler. You’ve been lucky to find folk to lean on, to have threads to pull, favors to call in. It’s kept you from outright killing the boy through stupidity or want. They’re just kind people, mostly, a little sad for you, worrying about the kid. “Hey, it’s hard,” they say. But you’ve never met anybody that gets it. You don’t even. How do you be a— fuck, a parent? They’re your friends, neighbors, but just don’t live where you do, because you’re always so lost and roaming.

Sneak a glance to your right; Dave’s still arrow straight, eyes ahead. Perpetual fucking up aside, when you see him, you feel fierce and raw. Like ball lightning. Proud and so, so scared. Also, now, a sharp prick of loss. That ache’s new, a salty wound right in your chest. Maybe it’s the sting of failure deepening to honest-to-God terror. The plan, the way you decided to raise him, is to take him apart and let him put himself back together, stronger. So fucking stupid. Will he even survive all the ways your love is breaking him? Gotta chill, man. Eyes front. You’re both quiet, all uneven breathing and exposed nerves.

Now that you’ve stopped being bastards at each other at top volume, what’s left is the cheesy announcer doing the station ID and starting the next shitty 60’s song. “Hang on Sloopy.” Jesus fuck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dave nod, slide towards you a few inches; he reaches for the volume knob and twists. “This track’s pretty sweet, man. Phat beat.”

Biting your style, irony like a ladder out of a hole. You want to grin and scream at the same time, split the difference with a smirk. And wrap your arm around him lightly, rest your hand on a bony upper arm. You are starving for contact, but restrain yourself. Just a little squeeze, you pull Dave against your side. It doesn’t make up for much, no where near enough, but he smiles anyhow, doing a barely-moving cool kid shoulder rock to the music. Tenderness ain’t cool, though, so it’s only a moment before he sasses you up, bright, friendly mockery on his face.

“So, you really scam on chicks that do the overnight at the Waffle House? Standards, dog.” You gotta laugh. Who is this kid, even?

A beatup old sedan pulls up. While Shelley slams her door and starts walking over, you crank the window down halfway and reply, “Check her out, she ain’t too bad. And keep your mouth shut ‘til you get your hashbrowns, aight?”

She’s pretty, dark-haired and slim. Though she must have dyed her hair recently, could have sworn it was blonde before. Smiling, she looks in and greets you, a little shyly. “Hey Strider. Glad you called. That your brother?”

“Sup, Sheila. Yeah, that’s Dave, coolest little man of all time.”

Shit. You called her the wrong name, after all this bullshit you’re blowing it. She’ll get pissed…but she doesn’t, just a “hey” to Dave and invites you in. It’s a little weird. Weird like your arm around Dave’s shoulders.

The angle’s changed, like he’s taller, and as you turn to look at him everything brightens. The misty light pollution dials up a few notches, not blinding but still stinging your eyes. You’re confused, shades gone and now you feel a wet warmth radiating out against your shirt, spreading quickly. You glance down, a short detour before looking at Dave, still trying to suppress panic.

Your empty arms trigger the flood, your mind slammed hard against itself. As the stab wound rips and blooms over your sternum, pain bursting through you, you remember. This happened long ago, and he’s already been gone. Outside, everything twists and crumbles, the landscape is shifting and meteors stream down the sky, Jesus. All changing, and you’re completely alone.

You put your head down, touching the top of the steering wheel. Close your eyes, try to breathe, but gasp and sputter instead. Hunched, starting to sob, you think about how long you’ve got left to wait.

Author's notes:

So, yeah. Sorry about the long. This is part of a multi-part (perhaps too ambitious, but we'll see) megastory about the Dream Bubbles-as-afterlife. I started with the Striderfic because it's like my favorite thing and because if I know anything, it's how to be a piece of shit custodial sibling. I'm gonna go work on some others now.

*whistles*

NIIIIIiiiIIIIIiice!

Originally Posted by Ganato

Oh for....
I think I only have to read a page or two of updates before I realize there's an entirely new thread.

Metafics are hilarious though!

I guess I should write something for this.

Inspiration!

Not one of his finest moments, that was to be sure. Depending on who you asked, Eridan had never had a fine moment. Actually asking anybody except for Feferi or himself would probably be "no".

True as that might be, this was the first time he had been covered in ink. Sticky, filthy ink. He had been hunting for a lusus for Feferi, and while he normally did such atop his mighty lusus and with the Crosshairs in his hand, he had been hunting with only his wit and a some-what lame harpoon gun. After having fought his lusus the damn thing had stolen Ahab's Crosshairs and taken off somewhere, and Eridan was now out to prove that he could do fine on his own.

The fact that he didn't manage to put down the squid that was two feet in front of him, proved otherwise.

Luckily for him he had met his moirail Feferi and she had quickly taken off to find some spare clothing, leaving him on a small island just off the coast. But when she returned he wished she hadn't.

"Fef, I can't wwear this!" he said holding out a piece of cloth that was definetly not what he used to wear.

"Oh quit carping, --Eridan. It was the best I could find! As long as you can fit it, it should go swimmingly until you get back to your hive!" she said floating in the water.

"Fef. You found me a tube-top and a miniskirt," Eridan said accusingly holding out the clothes in question.

"Sorry Eridan, but I have to go!" she answered and before he could answer she was gone.

Eridan sighed as he began to peel off the ink-covered scarf. He was just happy that no one would be around while he did this.

What he didn't know was that one troll was watching. Another fact Eridan was impervous to was that this very troll was an artist, one who had not had any inspiration for quite a while.

Two days later a certain blue blood was sitting at his computer, admiring at a new piece of art from one his favorite artists.

"D--> I..."
"D--> I am in need of a towel..."

Well that was dumb. I don't think I'm cut out to just sit down and start writing

I lol'd. Hard.

In dedication to Nepeta Leijon: The best meowrail anyone could ask forAO3TindeckTumblr

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Thank you: wilySubversionist for inspiring me with the Idea to write a dreambubble fic.
Sorry no Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfic this post...
It’s a little background info for my adventure. This is about what happens to Morgathen’s kids growing up in a dream bubble.

Floating on the River Lethe…

Drake was afraid. Her siblings Mike, Valkyra, and Trig probably were too. The four of you grew up together with your mom and dad in their combined bubble. It was comforting to know that at the end of your life that you would see them again. That death would be fine. Knowing the fact that some days were a party and some days a funeral. Drake resolved to make the most of her life. To have the sweetest memories so everyone would hang out with her. Mom said that the four of them were at an advantage that they knew of Earth firsthand, they met aliens; they would be keepers of knowledge for future generations.

It made Drake proud, but it didn’t make her any less scared. Scared of bad memories, sometimes when mommy or daddy remembered things it was really scary. She was only two sweeps old when they all saw how daddy died. Mommy grieving; screaming everything would be okay that somehow she would find a doctor screw paradox space. He died in her arms and then they remembered they remembered they were dead but not then not just yet. Months faded in fast forward by and mommy pushed away all her friends until they were born she went on a while but scary smart Auntie whispered two words. “Postpartum depression.”

Mommy cried and left us with some of her consorts and gave them orders to contact Auntie after a day. Mommy was feeling dramatic that day she decided to act out the scene from Romeo and Juliet with her dream self taking the poison. She ascended to her quest bed the nearest thing to a mausoleum she had. We saw her draw the screwdriver from her strife specibus and run it through her heart. No one else had ascended to god tier during the game and now we know why. That’s when we got two Mothers.

It was Drake’s sixth sweep as some of her friends would call it; and she was scared. Scared that her Mom and Dad would forget and the only world she had ever known would fade away when they got reincarnated. Scared of facing the real world with a new set of rules and leaving all that was familiar behind, but most of all she was scared that her other Mother, her god tier mother would be crazy, or depressed, or forgot about them all together; leaving them to aforementioned and un-pondered fates. Then Drake saw a vaguely familiar hooloovoo colored glow…

Please critique. I find writing hard with my disability. So is this good for a first writing post?

Last edited by pimudragonfeline; 03-04-2011 at 10:47 PM.

Originally Posted by hexirex21

"This is Alternian Tech Support, how may I hate you today?"

Still voting for spadebroken to be a word.

Originally Posted by Walliard

Originally Posted by ckret2

My edit got ninja'd by your response. And so it looks like I ninja'd you.

Double mobius ninjaround.

And it doesn't look like an edit because you ninja'd the edit notification.

ninception

You say it you say the worst possible expletive you know, CRUDBUCKETS!

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by wilySubversionist

Er, hi. I'm delurking to say how much I fucking love this thread and all the fic for this fandom. So much talent! So much, in fact, I feel the need to dilute it a little. This is the first fanfic I've written in a decade, so it's probably a little mostly shitty. But I hope y'all enjoy a little.

Walking Far From Home(xxiii)

It's all around you, streetlights and the haze of the city. The orange glow that replaces the sun every night pushes in past the thick dust layer on the windows. It makes the truck cab fill with warm color, deceptive, because it’s January and even in the South you can see your breath. Dave’s too cool for a coat, or too big for last year’s, maybe; his quaking body vibrates the canvas benchseat. Too little gas to turn the engine over, but you can flip the key towards you and power on the radio. Distraction.

You twist the knob slowly, one ear cocked towards the dash, pretending to know what you’re looking for. You settle on oldies, cough out a laugh at the chorus of “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl”. You must have sounded too please with yourself, too smug in your purposefully terrible taste, because Dave’s blond head snaps around to glare through pointed glasses.

“What the hell, man? Really?”

You bop your head slightly, side to side, won’t give him the satisfaction of actually looking down. “This is my jam, yo.”

He grunts softly, folds his arms and tucks them tightly against his chest. You want to chuckle, it’s a pretty adorable gesture of childish frustration even as he's trying to be adult about it, but it would send the wrong message. You can see the point of his shoulder, his elbow sharp and hard, and knowing he is too skinny by half socks the humor out of it anyhow.

Song ends and another kicks in, Rod Stewart trying to be sexy. He doesn’t get through the first verse before Dave groans loudly and uncrosses his arms,violent-quick. You glance down passed the edge of your shades. He’s got his hands crumpled into fists that smack the seat at the sides of his knees.

“What the hell are we doing here, Bro? We’ve been sitting freezing outside this shithole for so long I’m gonna need a herd of St. Bernards with high-pressure kegnecks if I want to thaw out before next week. Why’d we have to come all the way out to the Beltway, huh? Why we sitting in random-ass Joe Joe’s rustbucket with the gun rack and the goddamn Lone Star mudflaps?”

You’d known Joe Joe when you were kids, and you were with him on that field trip to the Alamo in 6th grade, but you hadn’t expected him to take such a hard turn for unironic Texas pride. No, not cool, but doesn’t matter. He asks few questions and does a lot of favors, a good friend. You hold yourself stiffly, even though your stomach is cramping like a bitch and your head is foggy. Soul-tired. You can’t let Dave know you’re feeling the pressure. Definitely can’t let him know his nagging’s actually getting to you. Instant game over.

“Am I even going to school tomorrow? Because at this rate, I’m going to get 2 minutes of sleep and look like I huffed glue with hobos under a bridge.” Kid just won’t stop running his mouth until you, both hands on the wheel, slowly rotate your upper body towards him. You tilt your chin up and raise your eyebrows by a hair; it’s a look he’s been getting since he first babbled in his highchair, shorthand for “You done, bro?” He is now, and his lips press into themselves and vanish.

“Listen, dude, I told you, best way to keep from losing your shit like that is to put a leash on it. Tug a little bit when it tries to leave the yard.” Dave’s left eyebrow hitches up; you can’t see them, but he’s rolling his eyes. Little bro is usually much cooler than this, going with the flow, but he’s cold and it’s the middle of the night and you can hear his stomach snarling from here. Fuck. He ain’t wrong about any of it. “Won’t be much longer.”

“Dude. Seriously, what the fuck is this? A stakeout? You pull some hugely weird shit sometimes, day to day conditions notwithstanding…”

“Damn, laying down some sick vocab!”

Dave’s fists tighten, cheeks getting redder. He’s Going There, no stopping him, and your own temper is rising. Everything fraying his composure presses down on you too, he just doesn’t know. And you are not in the fucking mood to be told.

“Never know when I’m gonna get my ass kicked or trip in a into a massive pile of pervy foam, but that’s just par for the 18 hole suckcourse we livin’ at. But sometimes you really step it up, max effort. Like not even coming home on my birthday? That was really special, man, real cool. But freezing in this fucking parking lot for an hour, no reason other than you just like fucking with me makes that look like a trip to Disney.”

You’re both just staring now, and you can feel his anger hotter than a radiator. Resentment wafts off his face, blurring the air like summer sun on asphalt. And open your mouth and spit right back, “Yeah, man, I know, huge asshole right here. But. You hungry, player?”

Like a slap, shouting the unspeakable. He recoils. You instantly regret it and feel lighter and fluid and now it just rolls out of you. A radioactive containment leak, no stopping it. You don’t even want to.

“So, check it. It’s the 12th and I don’t get a check ‘til the 15th. You ate the last of the Eggos for dinner yesterday, so you know there’s no food in the house. I had a hundred bucks left after the electric, but I still owed the doctor after your last cough, so then it's just twenty-five. Then your backpack ripped and fourteen blocks is too far with all those books, so there that goes. Three days, dog, until we’re flush again and nothing to fucking eat.

“But there’s this chick Shelley who comes to club when I spin and she’s a waitress here but only after 2 in mornin' and I called up Joe ‘cause we can’t walk here and I can't even find busfare in the couch. So now we’re here, in a random dude’s shitty truck in the middle of the night, waiting for some girl, who could lose her damn job but is gonna feed us for nothing anyhow. There’s your why. ‘Cause you’re hungry and it’s the best hustle I got.”

Damn. Shuts him right the fuck up, just locks him down as it shifts the weight off you and onto him too. It’s the best strategy you ever thought of, laying it all out for him. And it’s the worst fucking thing you’ve ever said. Your whole mouth feels sticky and sour. Basically full-on ripped the curtain down between regular kid stuff and the shit grown-ass men have to shoulder. He is ten years old. Barely.

And you can see it, all over his face; he still loses a lot at cards. It’s clear how his forehead creases in the middle and his mouth is slack, you just blew his lobe. Reality KO’s childhood in one round. You can’t fucking believe yourself.

But Dave’s a smart kid, a good one, he’ll handle it, you think— hope. Look at him, already working on patching up the shrapnel of your little truth bomb. Before he turns to focus on the brick wall through the windshield, you see him harden, not shivering now. You want to take it back, to apologize, but if you start now, you will never, ever stop.

“Oh. Cool,” he says, toneless.

Probably once a week you feel it, this guilty nausea. You know you’re fucking up, failing him all the time. Failing him and you don’t know how to do any better. Never this bad before, though, never seen his spine so stiff and his face made of plaster. You haven't eaten in two days yourself, but you've never had less appetite in your life. There’s such a gulf between what Dave needs and what you’re giving him. Just sick inside.

You picture the waitress, Joe Joe, remember Mrs. Cieslewski across the hall from your first place. She showed you how to heat a bottle right, jostled Baby Dave to sleep when you couldn’t get him to. That guy, too, who brought you buckets from his tap after the water got turned off in that first floor squat when Dave was a toddler. You’ve been lucky to find folk to lean on, to have threads to pull, favors to call in. It’s kept you from outright killing the boy through stupidity or want. They’re just kind people, mostly, a little sad for you, worrying about the kid. “Hey, it’s hard,” they say. But you’ve never met anybody that gets it. You don’t even. How do you be a— fuck, a parent? They’re your friends, neighbors, but just don’t live where you do, because you’re always so lost and roaming.

Sneak a glance to your right; Dave’s still arrow straight, eyes ahead. Perpetual fucking up aside, when you see him, you feel fierce and raw. Like ball lightning. Proud and so, so scared. Also, now, a sharp prick of loss. That ache’s new, a salty wound right in your chest. Maybe it’s the sting of failure deepening to honest-to-God terror. The plan, the way you decided to raise him, is to take him apart and let him put himself back together, stronger. So fucking stupid. Will he even survive all the ways your love is breaking him? Gotta chill, man. Eyes front. You’re both quiet, all uneven breathing and exposed nerves.

Now that you’ve stopped being bastards at each other at top volume, what’s left is the cheesy announcer doing the station ID and starting the next shitty 60’s song. “Hang on Sloopy.” Jesus fuck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dave nod, slide towards you a few inches; he reaches for the volume knob and twists. “This track’s pretty sweet, man. Phat beat.”

Biting your style, irony like a ladder out of a hole. You want to grin and scream at the same time, split the difference with a smirk. And wrap your arm around him lightly, rest your hand on a bony upper arm. You are starving for contact, but restrain yourself. Just a little squeeze, you pull Dave against your side. It doesn’t make up for much, no where near enough, but he smiles anyhow, doing a barely-moving cool kid shoulder rock to the music. Tenderness ain’t cool, though, so it’s only a moment before he sasses you up, bright, friendly mockery on his face.

“So, you really scam on chicks that do the overnight at the Waffle House? Standards, dog.” You gotta laugh. Who is this kid, even?

A beatup old sedan pulls up. While Shelley slams her door and starts walking over, you crank the window down halfway and reply, “Check her out, she ain’t too bad. And keep your mouth shut ‘til you get your hashbrowns, aight?”

She’s pretty, dark-haired and slim. Though she must have dyed her hair recently, could have sworn it was blonde before. Smiling, she looks in and greets you, a little shyly. “Hey Strider. Glad you called. That your brother?”

“Sup, Sheila. Yeah, that’s Dave, coolest little man of all time.”

Shit. You called her the wrong name, after all this bullshit you’re blowing it. She’ll get pissed…but she doesn’t, just a “hey” to Dave and invites you in. It’s a little weird. Weird like your arm around Dave’s shoulders.

The angle’s changed, like he’s taller, and as you turn to look at him everything brightens. The misty light pollution dials up a few notches, not blinding but still stinging your eyes. You’re confused, shades gone and now you feel a wet warmth radiating out against your shirt, spreading quickly. You glance down, a short detour before looking at Dave, still trying to suppress panic.

Your empty arms trigger the flood, your mind slammed hard against itself. As the stab wound rips and blooms over your sternum, pain bursting through you, you remember. This happened long ago, and he’s already been gone. Outside, everything twists and crumbles, the landscape is shifting and meteors stream down the sky, Jesus. All changing, and you’re completely alone.

You put your head down, touching the top of the steering wheel. Close your eyes, try to breathe, but gasp and sputter instead. Hunched, starting to sob, you think about how long you’ve got left to wait.

Author's notes:

So, yeah. Sorry about the long. This is part of a multi-part (perhaps too ambitious, but we'll see) megastory about the Dream Bubbles-as-afterlife. I started with the Striderfic because it's like my favorite thing and because if I know anything, it's how to be a piece of shit custodial sibling. I'm gonna go work on some others now.

..I need you to compensate for the wound that you reopened in my heart.
-sobsob-

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

So when you say "Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction" do you mean "belongs in the trash" or "Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction" because I could do both but only one is going to be allowed on the forums...

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Thanks everybody for being so encouraging!

Originally Posted by sarasvati

what in the fuck this was so good i don't even

Oh man, that is hugely flattering coming from you.(I don't wanna fangirl out, but you're a huge headcannon influence for me.) I don't know how I got there, but your stuff on AO3 made me sit up and pay attention to fanfic again; I'd forgotten how great it could be. And now I've basically read all the fic ever, all of it, and I love it and I'm better for it.

@pimudragonfeline: There are some interesting ideas there and you've got a good start, but they do get jumbled up. I think if you expanded it out some (says the verbose motherfucker ), it would make more sense. Also, I don't think that's what postpartum depression means.

@caprisaurus: So sorry! Uhm, here, have a fluffier piece? It's a shorter, more quickly written part of the same, set around the same point as Swipes of Red and Teal, which I loved!, and I swear to Gog FieryBlacksmith, I'm not ripping you off. (Please, Hammer, don't hurt me! )

(xxi)

She struggles to stand, unable to get traction on the slick floor. Her arms are sore and her nose smarts like a punch from on onslaught of medicinal-cherry and over-sweet blue raspberry syrup. Her blood, and his. How did get so colorful in here, she wonders, pushing to her knees. She was with Karkat in his Land, at his hive, and she still is, but thickness on her tongue is strange and bright. A shudder passing from her toes to the top of her battered head, she remembers.

“Oh.”

Karkat still lies in a heap in the middle of the vivid whorls, limbs splayed. She sniffs deeply and makes out white-in-grey— jagged bones jutting through his skin. But her body has already mended, no pain at all. If she just drubs him a little, gently, she thinks, then crawls the distance between them.

Two light raps on his forehead wake him, screaming. His eyes are wide, his voice choked with fear and rage, but he doesn’t see anything. And he won’t stop. She calls his name over and over again and puts her hands to his face, but he doesn’t snap alert until the whole bloody business finishes replaying in his mind’s eye. He shuts his mouth, finally, when he understands, best he can, where he is; in the same instant, his body blinks back to how he remembered it most, healthy again with wiry muscles on top of bone. Things in the right places.

“Terezi. God.” He sits up and casts his eyes around, still somewhat bewildered. He thinks over all the facts, trying to get a toehold for strategy, what to do, where are they. When he settles on her face, it’s dabbed with red and teal all over, she’s soaking in it, and he doesn’t know what to make of her concerned yet quizzical frown. “I don’t know whether I should be glad to see you or totally pissed.”

“Heh, what else is new?” He’s glad to see her smile, but it’s a tight, wry shape that’s new and doesn’t suit her face at all.

“If we really are dead, I hope you’re not going to pull that apathetic Aradia bullshit. I don’t need you to get all spooky and emotionless on me.”

“No, I’m not,” she answers. She’s made it to her feet finally and offers him her hands. They both rise, facing each other, still tense. She feels him trembling a little.

Terezi shakes her head as she steps back from him, sliding a little in the blood-slick. She seems sad, that wrong little smile won’t go away.

“What?”

“I just…don’t think you need to do that anymore, Karkat. Since we’re dead, we get to make this,” she sweeps one hand towards the respiteblock, steadying herself on a wall with the other, “whatever we want. We don’t have to be emotionless, but we don’t have to feel just like we did before, either.”

He pauses, considering her carefully, then closes his eyes, picturing the room clean, orderly, better than before. He’s a little shocked when it works. No traces. Terezi sniffs repeatedly, shallow and quick, adjusting to the change.

When he screws up his courage enough to speak, his voice is less timid than he thought it would be. “But what if I do still feel the same?”

Her mind and mouth twist like queryhooks. The tangy lime soporslime where his recuperacoon sat was replaced with a chocolaty structure covered in smooth white icing, a broad flat shape with two spires, topped with flickering citrus points. “What is that?”

“Just a table. You said before”— he swallows hard — “that you were disappointed. That my hive wasn’t set up for a proper candlelight hatedate. You were just… being you, I guess, but since we get do-overs…”

Karkat flounders a little, muttering beneath his breath. She doubts that he believes she can make out: “I do feel the same”. He’s always underestimating her perception. Terezi wants so badly to rush over, grab him and kiss him hard, but lets the urge pass; there’s time yet. They can do whatever they feel like, forever.

He watches her expression morph from confused to touched to grinning, shithive maggots as always. To him, she looks solid, real again.

“Well, then, I should investigate!”

The points of her teeth reflect light and he is so goddamn glad she’s cackling, same as ever, as she confidently strolls (is she doing that with her hips on purpose?) over, sits down, and scoots in. Her hand strokes over the linen, pings at the silver charger and candlesticks. She bobs her head appreciatively, satisfied; it feels substantial enough.

And when she cocks a grin at him and says “Alright, Karkles, I accept. Do your worst!” he can’t suppress his own broad smile, and goes to join her at an imaginary table for two.

"'Cause these humans treat humans like humans treat hogs
They get used up, coughed up, and fried in a pan
But I wasn't born to die like a dog,
I was born to die just like a man."Fanfiction on AO3: Walking Far from Home | Dethstuck

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Someone wanted trashy rainbow drinker fanfiction?

Sun and Moon

I looked at her, and she took my breath away. Her skin shone, and she moved with the liquid, deadly grace of an angel. It hurt to look at her, and yet I couldn’t look away. No words could escape my mouth, for her gaze transfixed me, like a snake mesmerizes it’s prey before striking. She could do anything she wanted to me, anything at all, and I’d let her, just to bask another moment in that bright sun trapped underneath her skin.

I’d never dreamed anyone could be stronger then me. I finally understood where Equius was coming from, but where he made it dirty, stained and rumpled like a towel covered in sweat, Kanaya burned away every impurity in the forge of her prescence. Her hands floated up and framed my face. I flinched, but I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. She was steel wrapped in silk, her hands warm but her grip strong, an inferno of passion, not a campfire of puppy love.

I wondered if I’d be consumed. I wondered if I’d care. She leaned in, and I half closed my eyes and puckered my lips, but of course I was mistaken. She nuzzled my neck, and I gasped at the feel of her strong, proud fangs caressing my tender flesh. Just as I was sure she was about to bite down, I was set gently in a chair, unresisting like a flower in a crisp breeze, bending but unharmed.

There she was, a pale moon to my darling’s brilliant sun, but no less exquisite for the dimmed radiance. Her eyes were bright poppies, beautiful but unsettling, and my sense of being prey doubled, nay, tripled. But if prey I was, I was also at this moment willing, for thus is the charm of the rainbow drinker. She ran her tongue across the cheek of my former moirail teasingly, and I surged to my feet in a wave of jealousy. Kanaya turned and gave me a dull stare, and I froze, heart pounding. I was sure she could feel the increase in my heartbeat when she whispered in Terezi’s ear impishly, and the peal of laughter so like bells that rang out afterward did nothing to still the storm of emotion clasped within my bosom.

They turned to me, and as one, stepped forward, each grabbing an arm. My knees buckled, but their arms clasped behind my back, holding me up. I was like a bug pinned to a corkboard, a fly trapped in a spider web, utterly, completely at their mercy. They owned me, body, mind, and soul, and as their faces drew closer I gasped in anticipation, and their mouths opened in horrible grins, and-

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by wilySubversionist

Thanks everybody for being so encouraging!

Originally Posted by sarasvati

what in the fuck this was so good i don't even

Oh man, that is hugely flattering coming from you.(I don't wanna fangirl out, but you're a huge headcannon influence for me.) I don't know how I got there, but your stuff on AO3 made me sit up and pay attention to fanfic again; I'd forgotten how great it could be. And now I've basically read all the fic ever, all of it, and I love it and I'm better for it.

@pimudragonfeline: There are some interesting ideas there and you've got a good start, but they do get jumbled up. I think if you expanded it out some (says the verbose motherfucker ), it would make more sense. Also, I don't think that's what postpartum depression means.

@caprisaurus: So sorry! Uhm, here, have a fluffier piece? It's a shorter, more quickly written part of the same, set around the same point as Swipes of Red and Teal, which I loved!, and I swear to Gog FieryBlacksmith, I'm not ripping you off. (Please, Hammer, don't hurt me! )

(xxi)

She struggles to stand, unable to get traction on the slick floor. Her arms are sore and her nose smarts like a punch from on onslaught of medicinal-cherry and over-sweet blue raspberry syrup. Her blood, and his. How did get so colorful in here, she wonders, pushing to her knees. She was with Karkat in his Land, at his hive, and she still is, but thickness on her tongue is strange and bright. A shudder passing from her toes to the top of her battered head, she remembers.

“Oh.”

Karkat still lies in a heap in the middle of the vivid whorls, limbs splayed. She sniffs deeply and makes out white-in-grey— jagged bones jutting through his skin. But her body has already mended, no pain at all. If she just drubs him a little, gently, she thinks, then crawls the distance between them.

Two light raps on his forehead wake him, screaming. His eyes are wide, his voice choked with fear and rage, but he doesn’t see anything. And he won’t stop. She calls his name over and over again and puts her hands to his face, but he doesn’t snap alert until the whole bloody business finishes replaying in his mind’s eye. He shuts his mouth, finally, when he understands, best he can, where he is; in the same instant, his body blinks back to how he remembered it most, healthy again with wiry muscles on top of bone. Things in the right places.

“Terezi. God.” He sits up and casts his eyes around, still somewhat bewildered. He thinks over all the facts, trying to get a toehold for strategy, what to do, where are they. When he settles on her face, it’s dabbed with red and teal all over, she’s soaking in it, and he doesn’t know what to make of her concerned yet quizzical frown. “I don’t know whether I should be glad to see you or totally pissed.”

“Heh, what else is new?” He’s glad to see her smile, but it’s a tight, wry shape that’s new and doesn’t suit her face at all.

“If we really are dead, I hope you’re not going to pull that apathetic Aradia bullshit. I don’t need you to get all spooky and emotionless on me.”

“No, I’m not,” she answers. She’s made it to her feet finally and offers him her hands. They both rise, facing each other, still tense. She feels him trembling a little.

Terezi shakes her head as she steps back from him, sliding a little in the blood-slick. She seems sad, that wrong little smile won’t go away.

“What?”

“I just…don’t think you need to do that anymore, Karkat. Since we’re dead, we get to make this,” she sweeps one hand towards the respiteblock, steadying herself on a wall with the other, “whatever we want. We don’t have to be emotionless, but we don’t have to feel just like we did before, either.”

He pauses, considering her carefully, then closes his eyes, picturing the room clean, orderly, better than before. He’s a little shocked when it works. No traces. Terezi sniffs repeatedly, shallow and quick, adjusting to the change.

When he screws up his courage enough to speak, his voice is less timid than he thought it would be. “But what if I do still feel the same?”

Her mind and mouth twist like queryhooks. The tangy lime soporslime where his recuperacoon sat was replaced with a chocolaty structure covered in smooth white icing, a broad flat shape with two spires, topped with flickering citrus points. “What is that?”

“Just a table. You said before”— he swallows hard — “that you were disappointed. That my hive wasn’t set up for a proper candlelight hatedate. You were just… being you, I guess, but since we get do-overs…”

Karkat flounders a little, muttering beneath his breath. She doubts that he believes she can make out: “I do feel the same”. He’s always underestimating her perception. Terezi wants so badly to rush over, grab him and kiss him hard, but lets the urge pass; there’s time yet. They can do whatever they feel like, forever.

He watches her expression morph from confused to touched to grinning, shithive maggots as always. To him, she looks solid, real again.

“Well, then, I should investigate!”

The points of her teeth reflect light and he is so goddamn glad she’s cackling, same as ever, as she confidently strolls (is she doing that with her hips on purpose?) over, sits down, and scoots in. Her hand strokes over the linen, pings at the silver charger and candlesticks. She bobs her head appreciatively, satisfied; it feels substantial enough.

And when she cocks a grin at him and says “Alright, Karkles, I accept. Do your worst!” he can’t suppress his own broad smile, and goes to join her at an imaginary table for two.

Dear gog, that's beautiful.

Originally Posted by Katrika

Sun and Moon

I looked at her, and she took my breath away. Her skin shone, and she moved with the liquid, deadly grace of an angel. It hurt to look at her, and yet I couldn’t look away. No words could escape my mouth, for her gaze transfixed me, like a snake mesmerizes it’s prey before striking. She could do anything she wanted to me, anything at all, and I’d let her, just to bask another moment in that bright sun trapped underneath her skin.

I’d never dreamed anyone could be stronger then me. I finally understood where Equius was coming from, but where he made it dirty, stained and rumpled like a towel covered in sweat, Kanaya burned away every impurity in the forge of her prescence. Her hands floated up and framed my face. I flinched, but I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. She was steal wrapped in silk, her hands warm but her grip strong, an inferno of passion, not a campfire of puppy love.

I wondered if I’d be consumed. I wondered if I’d care. She leaned in, and I half closed my eyes and puckered my lips, but of course I was mistaken. She nuzzled my neck, and I gasped at the feel of her strong, proud fangs caressing my tender flesh. Just as I was sure she was about to bite down, I was set gently in a chair, unresisting like a flower in a crisp breeze, bending but unharmed.

There she was, a pale moon to my darling’s brilliant sun, but no less exquisite for the dimmed radiance. Her eyes were bright poppies, brilliant but unsettling, and my sense of being prey doubled, nay, tripled. But if prey I was, I was also at this moment willing, for thus is the charm of the rainbow drinker. She ran her tongue across the cheek of my former moirail teasingly, and I surged to my feet in a wave of jealousy. Kanaya turned and gave me a dull stare, and I froze, heart pounding. I was sure she could feel the increase in my heartbeat when she whispered in Terezi’s ear impishly, and the peal of laughter so like bells that rang out afterward did nothing to still the storm of emotion clasped within my bosom.

They turned to me, and as one, stepped forward, each grabbing an arm. My knees buckled, but their arms clasped behind my back, holding me up. I was like a bug pinned to a corkboard, a fly trapped in a spider web, utterly, completely at their mercy. They owned me, body, mind, and soul, and as their faces drew closer I grinned in anticipation, and their mouths opened in horrible grins, and-

And that’s when I woke up in the trash pile.

Wat.

Tee hee hee.

In dedication to Nepeta Leijon: The best meowrail anyone could ask forAO3TindeckTumblr

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

Originally Posted by Katrika

Someone wanted trashy rainbow drinker fanfiction?

Sun and Moon

I looked at her, and she took my breath away. Her skin shone, and she moved with the liquid, deadly grace of an angel. It hurt to look at her, and yet I couldn’t look away. No words could escape my mouth, for her gaze transfixed me, like a snake mesmerizes it’s prey before striking. She could do anything she wanted to me, anything at all, and I’d let her, just to bask another moment in that bright sun trapped underneath her skin.

I’d never dreamed anyone could be stronger then me. I finally understood where Equius was coming from, but where he made it dirty, stained and rumpled like a towel covered in sweat, Kanaya burned away every impurity in the forge of her prescence. Her hands floated up and framed my face. I flinched, but I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. She was steel wrapped in silk, her hands warm but her grip strong, an inferno of passion, not a campfire of puppy love.

I wondered if I’d be consumed. I wondered if I’d care. She leaned in, and I half closed my eyes and puckered my lips, but of course I was mistaken. She nuzzled my neck, and I gasped at the feel of her strong, proud fangs caressing my tender flesh. Just as I was sure she was about to bite down, I was set gently in a chair, unresisting like a flower in a crisp breeze, bending but unharmed.

There she was, a pale moon to my darling’s brilliant sun, but no less exquisite for the dimmed radiance. Her eyes were bright poppies, beautiful but unsettling, and my sense of being prey doubled, nay, tripled. But if prey I was, I was also at this moment willing, for thus is the charm of the rainbow drinker. She ran her tongue across the cheek of my former moirail teasingly, and I surged to my feet in a wave of jealousy. Kanaya turned and gave me a dull stare, and I froze, heart pounding. I was sure she could feel the increase in my heartbeat when she whispered in Terezi’s ear impishly, and the peal of laughter so like bells that rang out afterward did nothing to still the storm of emotion clasped within my bosom.

They turned to me, and as one, stepped forward, each grabbing an arm. My knees buckled, but their arms clasped behind my back, holding me up. I was like a bug pinned to a corkboard, a fly trapped in a spider web, utterly, completely at their mercy. They owned me, body, mind, and soul, and as their faces drew closer I grinned in anticipation, and their mouths opened in horrible grins, and-

Re: MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

@ wily: Writing the guardians as sympathetic characters is tough, but man did you make me feel sad for Bro.

also obligatory yayyy karkat and terezi.

Originally Posted by pimudragonfeline

Floating on the River Lethe…

Please critique. I find writing hard with my disability. So is this good for a first writing post?

I'll preface my critique with this: I found your story to be the good kind of confusing, that is, I'm not and can't be sure exactly what's going on here but I want to know more, and it got better the further in I was for the most part.

Critique Inside

You have a strong core, with some weaknesses in structure. Introductions are very difficult to write IMO, much more difficult than the actual story you want to tell to get right.

I see your comment on your disability, and I'm not sure what that is, but I'll still point out things I think are glaring and you can fix what you can fix.

I don't like your first sentences:

The four of you: Mike, Valkyra, Drake, and Trig. Drake thought. The four of you grew up together with your mom and dad in their combined bubble.

General issue: Try to start sentences using a word besides "the" or "it" or pronouns/articles if you can, especially at the start of something. This is where you're trying to pull the reader in, and I didn't feel pulled in until the fourth sentence or so, after what I quoted. Action and active words are really helpful.

"Drake thought" is a bit of a fragment and feels weird to read.

You mention four kids but only talk about one of them, aside from several references to friends. That's a bit cluttered, even though I suppose they would be important later, they're not important now.

I like the detail about wanting the best life so she can have the best afterlife, because memories are a powerful motivation for many people, but especially so if you relive them forever.

You have a few grammatical errors in general. Some are stylistic (yes! break the rules!) but there's also things like:

Mom said that the four of them were at an advantage that they knew of Earth firsthand that they meet aliens that they would keep the knowledge for future generations.

A little bit of punctuation in here would help the reader a lot, as it feels like a run on like it is now. Your style includes a few of these good run-ons that work by repetition, but this one doesn't sound as good. Part of that might be the tense on "meet," which is confusing--did you mean they met aliens? would meet?

Your second paragraph is fairly clear, but you might want to clean it up a little. Around here is when I started wondering what these kids were and what happened to them--are they just a dream of Mom and Dad, now dead? I want to hear more about how Drake lives here.

Months faded by and mommy pushed away all her friends until they were born she went on a while

...what? this needs major grammatical cleanup.

I like the thought of things fading in and out though, it feels very dreamlike and like bubbles we've seen.

Third paragraph: I dislike Romeo and Juliet references on principle, though not all references. Dark. Leads to more dark stuff. Same general proofreading issues, but not as glaring as other things I've pointed out. Details like the screwdriver and the poison are powerful at showing how depraved Mom was.

Fourth paragraph was what drove me to write this critique, in the good sense. Specifically:

Scared that her Mom and Dad would forget and the only world she had ever known would fade away when they got reincarnated

Walking around wondering if your existence will continue on in the next moment...being in that situation is not something I like to experience. There's a glimpse of this here, but it's not drawn out. Describe the feelings more, they're valid ones and scary ones. And confusing ones, like how I have no idea what Drake really is.

I feel as if you have a core idea that is solid, but your execution doesn't completely show that. Even a small amount of proofreading can help your reader understand what you're saying, and describing your ideas in more detail (references can help here, but avoid banality) will improve how the reader understands your ideas.

TL;DR version: Details in stories are like those warm chocolate chunks in a fresh baked cookie. Delicious. Include more.

@ Katriki: Ugh, waking up in trash cans and their bad smell and awful things people put in them like glass shards and rotting food and...